Waiting on Superman
by Lynn Heartnet
Summary: Arthur is an alcoholic writer living in New York, and his life is tossed upside down when a soldier that calls himself "Superman" saves him from a mugging one dark night. At first he can't stand the brash loud American, but after he finally finds himself in love the soldier ships out. USUK AU.
1. Chapter 1

Arthur stumbled drunkenly out of the building, the well-lit party creating a halo around his lonesome form. The whole night had sunk away into a faint memory, dulled by alcoholic pleasure. He swerved about and tired to find his way home.

New York was a dark maze at night, especially to the British man who'd lived there for only a short period of time. Still, drunk and confused he seemed to gravitate in the right direction. He was only a few blocks away when the two men approached him from either side.

"Hey, buddy." One of them growled coarsely, both of them grabbing Arthur by the arms and directing him towards a nearby alley. "We wanna talk to you..."

"I'm sorry gentleman, I'm not that kind of man." Arthur slurred with a smirk. "You'll have to find another way to relieve your sexual frustrations."

"Yeah, real funny." The second man said gruffly. Then he pulled out a cold shining knife from his pocket. "Your wallet. Now."

"I must have left it in my other pants. How careless of me." Arthur chuckled, but his humor and wit only earned him the knife against his throat.

"We're not looking for a funny man, we're looking for your wallet." The mugger hissed, spit flying from his mouth. Arthur felt his snark drain away as the knife bit into his skin, and he was just about to give in.

"Hey, boys." A third voice cut through the darkness and Arthur turned his head to see a massively tall shadow standing at the mouth of the alley. "A little late to be out, isn't it?"

"Keep walking, mind your own business." The man removed the knife from Arthur's throat and waved it at Arthur's would be savior.

"Nu uh, that's just not how heroes work!" The shadowy figure argued.

_Heroes...? What is this nonsense? Somebody find me a more rational savior._ Arthur thought dryly.

"You stupid or something?" The mugger growled and his buddy clenched his fists.

"I'm not stupid." The voice laughed a loud and ridiculous laugh. "I'm Superman."

Then the stranger grabbed the first mugger by his shirt collar and lifted him off the ground with a show of surprising show of strength. Then he tossed him aside as easily as he might toss a used tissue into the trash can. The mugger with the knife yelled, and he charged the self-proclaimed Superman. The stranger just gave him a well-aimed punch to the noise that sent the man to the ground where his head cracked against the pavement. The stranger laughed again and then turned to Arthur.

"You okay, dude?" He asked, real concern in his voice. Arthur just collapsed to his knees and shook his head.

"Oi, mate. I don't think I can stand..."

* * *

Arthur woke up in his bed wearing his pajamas and a bathrobe, unsure of how he'd gotten there. He lay there for a moment, just letting the hangover seep into his body. Then he got up and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and get the taste of booze out of his mouth. He looked in the mirror and winced at his bloodshot eyes and bedhead, he really looked like hell. He walked into the kitchen, planning on mulling over the events of the previous night over a cup of tea. That was when he saw the huge man sleeping on the couch.

"What the bloody hell...?" He groaned. It wasn't the first time he'd taken someone home, but surely it was the first time they'd ended up on the couch. Besides those days were behind him, he was a much more dignified drunk now.

The man on the couch stirred at his words, and blinked upon impossibly blue eyes. He stretched and grabbed a pair of glasses off the coffee table, sliding them up the bridge of his nose.

"Mornin'." He smiled. His dirty blonde hair was sticking out every which way, one piece in the front a little more determinedly than all the others.

"Who are you?" Arthur asked, crossing his arms and cutting right to the chase.

"I'm hurt, you leaned on me all the way home and I helped you when you puked, you can't even remember my name?" The man laughed, clearly not as offended as his words implied.

_Puked? God..._

"Sorry, I was a tad inebriated. Name?" Arthur sighed, wanting nothing more than his tea and some quiet.

"Alfred. Alfred F. Jones, at your service." The man sat up straight and for the first time Arthur noticed the camouflage jacket slung over the back of the couch which matched the man's camouflage pants. That, paired with the dogtags around the man's neck, led Arthur to the man's occupation. A soldier then, and his voice was so familiar...

"Wait a minute...Superman?" Arthur realized, pointing at the solider.

"The one and only." Alfred winked. "Well not exactly. I'm no Clark Kent, but that's what my friends call me."

"Oh god." Alfred rubbed at his temples. "I really puked?"

"Oh yes." Alfred stood up. "Got any coffee? I don't feel right until after my third cup."

"_Coffee_?" Arthur said the word with disgust, watching the blonde youth begin to search the kitchen pantries.

"Whoa, three bottles of vodka but no Reese's Puffs." Alfred whistled. "Well...that's a lifestyle."

"You get out of there!" Arthur snarled. "I don't see why I'm obligated to feed you!"

"Well I did save your ass last night." Alfred shrugged. "I think that's worth a bowl of cereal."

"Fine." Arthur snapped. "You have a point. There's no coffee...absolutely no coffee, but there's food in the fridge so knock yourself out."

Alfred smiled and gave that loud charismatic laugh of his and Arthur made himself busy fetching tea. All he could think about was getting rid of that pesky man. That pesky Superman.


	2. Chapter 2

"I don't need you following me everywhere I go!" Arthur yelled, and most of the tenants of the building leaned out of their windows to see the cause of the commotion. Arthur's breath fogged in the cold winter air and he tightened his scarf to protect against the wind's bite.

"Course you do, you need a bodyguard." Alfred shouted back, without need of course considering how close they were. "You get in trouble so often!"

"You barely even know me, how do you know I get in trouble often?" Arthur growled, walking briskly and trying to ignore the rambunctious youth.

"Dude, the only few times I've been outside with you, you've been mugged, gotten in a fight, and passed out drunk on the street." Alfred snorted, recalling their past interactions. Though Arthur tried to get the man off his tail as much as possible, Alfred insisted on staying close even if that meant showing up at Arthur's door early in the morning and following the man wherever he went like a dog.

"That's my business." Arthur rolled his eyes, realizing how ridiculous he sounded.

"So are we going grocery shopping? Because we're out of Doritos." Alfred asked, and Arthur clenched his fists angrily.

"I'm not shopping for you, you twit!" He snapped. Alfred just smiled wider and fixed Arthur with those bright blue eyes.

"Come on man, we need Doritos."

"You are insufferable!" Arthur hissed. "And no, I'm not going shopping. If you must know, I'm going to Central Park."

"Nice, a day out." Alfred smiled. "Though kinda cold for it don't you think?" He shrugged.

"If you don't like it, you can go home." Arthur scowled. He walked the rest of the way in silence, and Alfred managed to follow him the entire way there. The park was mostly empty though a few people still jogged their way past or stopped and sat to enjoy the scenery. Arthur picked a park bench and random and pulled his journal out of the bag that was slung across his shoulder. Then he took a blue pen from within the bag and uncapped it with his teeth.

"Whatcha writing?" Alfred sat on the bench next to Arthur and leaned over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of his work. Arthur angrily turned about and put his feet on the bench so that his back was facing Alfred. This didn't discourage the soldier, if anything it only amused him. Arthur tried his best to ignore the curious glances Superman was giving him as he wrote about far off lands and wizards and knights.

"You're like a real writer, right?" Alfred asked, breaking Arthur's train of thought. "Published, I mean?"

"Yes." Arthur snapped.

"Then how come I can't find any of your books?" Alfred asked, not unkindly, if anything he just seemed genuinely confused.

"I write under a pen name."

"Oh."

They sat a little while longer before Alfred piped up again. "Well what is it?

"What is what?" Arthur sighed, frustrated at the constant interruptions.

"Your pen name." Alfred persisted.

"I'm not telling you." Arthur insisted, trying to avoid eye contact with the soldier, but it was hard. Alfred was so close that Arthur could smell the leather of his bomber jacket. Did the soldier know nothing about personal boundaries?

"Aw, why not?" Alfred pouted.

"I don't want you reading my books." Arthur stated plainly.

"I won't make fun of them or anything! I bet they're great!" Alfred pleaded. "Please tell me?"

"No. I'm not telling you. Give it up."

"Fine then, I'll just have to find them." Alfred huffed. Arthur had to laugh slightly at that, had to laugh in disbelief.

"You'll find them? How?" He chuckled, raising an eyebrow with skepticism.

"I'll figure it out. I'll read everything I can until I find a book that sounds like you." Alfred grinned.

"That's ridiculous." Arthur replied dryly. "That's more than ridiculous, that's impossible.

"Nothing's impossible for me, I'm Superman." Alfred grinned and then went back to trying to read over Arthur's shoulder.


	3. Chapter 3

"You're Michael Kerrington!" Alfred declared, tossing a paperback novel onto Arthur's desk. Arthur removed his reading glasses and looked up at Alfred with a glare of disbelief.

"No." He said simply. "I've never even heard of that author."

"What?" Alfred's face was dismayed. "No way I thought I had it this time!" He studied the book he'd thought was of Arthur's doing. It was just like him, a fantasy novel-a gloomy one where every character seemed to be on the verge of death- but also hopeful with a bit of romance.

"You could always give up." Arthur drained the wine glass that was sitting before him and then poured out another. Then he placed his glasses back on and turned to his computer. He only seemed to need the glasses when dealing with computer screens, the font was too small for him and he hated it. He hated looking old enough for reading glasses. Still he had to type what he wrote so he put up with it.

"I'm not giving up." Alfred folded his arms over his chest, his face frustrated. More frustrated than usual.

"You may as well." Arthur typed a bit further, took a sip of wine and sighed. Alfred gave him a worrying look.

"You've been at it for awhile." He said softly.

"That's none of your business." Arthur snapped, focusing on his writing. Alfred shrugged and leaned against the desk.

"I'm not giving up." He said again.

"Mhmm." Arthur nodded vaguely, not paying much attention.

"I'm at the bookstore every weekend now. I've never read so much in my life, you're really good for my education." Alfred continued.

"That's good." Arthur was still ignoring most of what Alfred said. Alfred just rolled his eyes in response.

"And sometimes while I'm there I just slip into the porn section because whatever."

"Mhmm."

"Found some magazines with your mom in them."

"Mhmm."

"Your mom is like way hot."

"That's nice."

Alfred pouted, leaning against the table and looking angrily at the writer. Soon his angry gaze drifted to the wineglass. While Arthur was focused on his typing Alfred slipped his hand around it's thin stem and plucked it off the table unnoticed.

_Being the invisible man has it's benefits. _He thought wryly. Then he carried the glass to the sink where he emptied it out before placing it back on the table where Arthur was writing. He carried out this procedure three more times before he was caught.

Arthur noticed Alfred stealing away with his glass and his hand clamped angrily on his wrist.

"Now what do you think you're doing?" He growled.

"Wine tasting?" Alfred suggested playfully.

"Stop that right now. I'm tired of people trying to cure my so called problems." Arthur snarled angrily. "You're not my caretaker."

"I'm your Superman, remember?" Alfred replied calmly. "I know what kryptonite looks like, and this is it."

That was when Arthur threw Alfred out of his apartment. Of course the American sat outside his front door all night anyway, until Arthur discovered him on the welcome mat the next morning.


	4. Chapter 4

**I just wanted to thank everyone who has taken time to review. I'm really worried about this one, it doesn't feel as well written as some of my other stories and it doesn't have a lot of feedback so somedays I wonder if I should continue it. But I got those five reviews, and if those people like it well then I guess I can finish it. So thanks guys, each review is like a little bit of encouragement to make the story better!**

**Also I'm sorry for the shortness of the chapters. I try to do the story in a way that it transitions smoothly from big time gaps, so sometimes I cut a chapter off short so it feels better. I'll try to update quicker so it doesn't look as bad!**

* * *

"Harold Garbinger."

Arthur looked up quickly and saw Alfred leaning against the wall right next to the doorway. They were at a church, and Arthur couldn't tell if he was pleased or angry at the sight of the American.

"I thought you weren't coming." He said softly.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world. I just had to...you know. Work." He shrugged, bomber jacket adding size to his shoulders.

"I'm not Harold Garbinger." Arthur looked down at the three month chip in his hand. Three months sober, and Alfred had promised to be there at his meeting. He was late.

"Damn, I thought I finally had it!" Alfred smirked, not at all discouraged. Arthur walked up to him, and handed him the chip.

"Here. You have it."

"What?" Alfred's eyes widened. "No way, man. That's yours. That's your big accomplishment."

"It wouldn't be my accomplishment if it wasn't for you." Arthur sighed. "Just take it you git. I don't need more clutter around my place."

Alfred slowly accepted the chip, looking at either side with a proud and curious glance. Arthur started walking towards his car and Alfred followed. Suddenly the American stopped, clutching the chip painfully tight so that it bit into the palm of his hand.

"I think I'm in love with you." He whispered, half hoping Arthur wouldn't hear. However Arthur had wonderful hearing.

"What?" He turned around, stunned. Alfred was looking at his feet, tears in his eyes and his face bright red. He looked terrified, and this was a man that had been to war.

"I just...I love you." He stammered. Arthur blinked and then walked over to the younger man. He smiled slightly and then blushed a bit himself.

"Well then...does that make me Lois Lane?"

Alfred looked up hopefully and when he saw Arthur blushing he smiled, and that smile widened into a chuckle which turned into a hearty laugh.

"Nah, man you're more like Batman. Dark and brooding."

"Are Batman and Superman an item?"

"Well, duh!"

* * *

Back at Arthur's house they made out clumsily for the first time, feeling like teenagers. When they'd finished, and were cuddling on Arthur's couch, the Brit noticed something oddly sad about the silence shared between them. Finally he looked Alfred in the eyes and saw the look of sadness and concentration.

"Something the matter, love?" He asked. Alfred remained quiet a moment longer and then sighed.

"I'm shipping out in a week."

Arthur's heart dropped out of his chest, just a moment ago his fingers had been absentmindedly playing with Alfred's dog tags with little thought as to what the cold pieces of metal meant. The ID tags, in case Alfred turned up dead in a ditch somewhere with his features too mangled for anyone to tell who he was. So they could ID him and send his body back to his family.

Alfred, the man who got him sober. The man that had just confessed his love to him.

"Shipping out?" He choked back.

"Yeah."

They was too much silence in the room, and Arthur's head was pounding.

"Well...that's not fair." He whispered, clutching the fabric of Alfred's shirt tightly.


End file.
